


The Crumbling

by gladiatorAviator



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Armin likes to be clean, Gen, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-13
Updated: 2017-06-13
Packaged: 2018-11-13 14:33:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11187117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gladiatorAviator/pseuds/gladiatorAviator
Summary: Armin's hands itched.He could see dirt gathering beneath his fingernails, his index finger smeared with black from greasing his gear. His palms seemed to burn, even though the blood had evaporated off of them hours ago. Even still, he could feel the liquid eating against his hands, running down his wrists and into rivulets that twisted and turned between the spots of smeared dirt on his forearms.





	The Crumbling

Armin’s hands itched.

He glanced down at them, between bites of tasteless military rations. He could see dirt gathering beneath his fingernails, his index finger smeared with black from greasing his gear. His palms seemed to burn, even though the blood had evaporated off of them hours ago. Even still, he could feel the liquid eating against his hands, running down his wrists and into rivulets that twisted and turned between the spots of smeared dirt on his forearms. 

He wasn’t the only one stuck with dirt and grime sticking to him like burrs. Armin cast his eyes about the mess hall, taking note that nearly everyone seemed as dirty as him. And with that came the terrible smell that permeated throughout the room. The reek of dead flesh and the splattered remains of those who had not survived coating the living, their angry spectres demanding retribution. The iron tang of blood, the taste still fresh on Armin’s tongue, coating his teeth as it had trickled down his face. Pine and undergrowth, mixing with the smell of Titan saliva and sticky sweat, creating a horrible perfume that wouldn’t dissipate.

He shook his head, trying to return his attention to his food. Hair met his eyes, some of the golden strands caked with mud and worse. His scalp began to itch. Frowning, Armin raised a hand to scratch at it, wincing as he ran over an area that was still wet with blood. His blood. Fingers came back dyed red, dotting around the areas where his steel hilts had stained silver onto his callouses. He rubbed them together, frowning when the blood oozed together into a sticky mess. 

Pressure built up beneath him, a feeling like bugs crawling underneath his exposed skin. It seemed to grow hands, beginning to squeeze at his neck, the suffocating smell of filth infiltrating his nose and denying him clean breath. Armin grimaced, putting his head in his hands, his skull pounding out a frantic rhythm beneath his fingers. 

“Are you okay?” Mikasa placed a hand on his knee, staring intently at him. Her hand was covered in dirt, hedging up beneath her fingernails, her fingers still dented from the force she put on her triggers.

Armin took in a deep breath, trying to calm the throbbing of his head. His vision flickered in and out for a moment as he met Mikasa’s face. “I’m doing fine,” he said, trying to ignore the increasing pressure of what felt like sandpaper rasping his skin. He scratched at his arm, giving a weak grin to cement his lie. 

“You aren’t trying to pass yourself off as fine?” Mikasa frowned at him. “You have a head injury. There’s still time to go to a proper medical facility if need be.”

Armin shook his head, weights shaking in his skull, rattling his teeth and plugging his ears. “I don’t want to slow us down,” he said, gesturing vaguely around the room. “We’re supposed to leave by tomorrow.” 

Mikasa removed her hand from his knee. “If you say so,” she said slowly. She returned her attention to her half-eaten meal, taking one last glance to assess Armin.

Her eyes burned the back of his head. Armin tried to hide his wince; he had never good at lying. _I’m not hurting as much as I was before,_ he reasoned with himself. _That should be a good sign._ Though, his fork was a little shaky in his hand, tension seeming to build behind his eyes, his throat constricting and his stomach flipping in nausea. Perhaps he should be done with dinner.

Black smeared the edges of his vision as he stood, his legs forgetting how to work. Kneecaps cracked as they failed to hold his weight, the floor twisting and undulating beneath him. The noises of the mess hall sounded far away, and above all, his head was thundering along with his heart, each beat stealing away more and more of his consciousness. Far away, in what seemed to be another world, his dishes clattered to the ground, the shocked yells of Mikasa and Eren a different lifetime away. 

What remained of his consciousness blinked out the instant he hit the ground.

\---

Noises sprang to life around Armin. His eyes felt like lead weights had been placed on them, the force needed to move them impossible to gather. Fuzzy echoes met his ears, broken sounds of a language that was just out of his reach. His head ached, but at least now it wasn’t throbbing.

He curled his hands and toes, relaxing a little as they responded. Good. He hadn’t lost anything. He spread out his consciousness, trying to divine where he was. Below his head was a fluffy pillow, sinking around him comfortably. He was tilted slightly upwards, back still connected with a mattress. He was out of his uniform, replaced with something more breathable and soft. He still felt filth sticking to him uncomfortably, his hair matted and pulling at his scalp.

“We were lucky and caught it early enough that there shouldn’t be too many complications,” a voice said, the sound near his feet. “You should be grateful that you were close to here.”

Armin struggled to open his eyes; he felt so tired, and sleeping was preferable to being awake. Awake meant he had to be a soldier again, to force himself into harsh lines that didn’t fit him. His heart ached every night thinking about all the people they had lost along the way, all but forgotten about. He could mourn later though. He had to figure out where he was.

A sterile room met his vision, a row of beds flanking the sides of him. Eren was falling asleep on a chair next to him, Mikasa speaking to a nurse in front of him. He groaned softly. _The hospital. Goddamn it._ Though, this hospital seemed much cleaner and more advanced than the ones he had been to before.

Mikasa glanced towards the bed, eyes widening as she noticed that he was awake. She cut off the nurse, pushing on Eren’s shoulder to wake him as she all but ran to his bedside. “Armin! You’re awake!”

“Don’t want to be,” Armin groaned. “What happened?”

“You’re awake!” Eren shook off the remnants of sleep, joining Mikasa. He hovered over him like a concerned parent, his lips shrinking into a worried line.

“Yes, Eren, we’ve established that,” Armin said dryly. “I’m awake. What happened?”

Eren rubbed the back of his neck. “You passed out, and we took you to the nearest hospital. The people at the front chewed us out for not bringing you here sooner. You had some internal bleeding in your head.”

“We’re in Sina, now,” Mikasa added, “since we were already so close. So you received the best care there is.”

Armin hummed, sinking further into his bed. _Sina,_ he thought, _so I received anaesthetics, and don’t have to worry about unsanitary tools._ His body still felt heavy, his skin still itching. He blinked, trying to get himself to stay awake and shake off what remained of the anaesthetic.

“You two should leave,” the nurse spoke up behind them. “He needs his rest, and shouldn’t be taking visitors.”

Eren began to protest. “But--”

“Eren, it’s okay,” Armin smiled gently at him. “I’m doing fine. For real this time. You can let the others know I’m doing okay.”

He still hesitated on his feet, glancing at Mikasa expectantly. 

She shook her head, beginning to leave the room, herding Eren along with her. “Let us know if we can do anything,” she said over her shoulder.

The nurse nodded, turning his attention back to Armin. “You’re going to need to rest up, and I’ve already talked to your superiors. You’re relieved from duty until you’re healed.”

Armin nodded, grimacing. _Which means I’ll be slowing us down..._

“Is there anything I can get you?”

Threading his hands into his lap, he tried to think past the remaining bits of anaesthesia that was running through his system. He took in a deep breath, closing his eyes. The smell of antiseptic hit his nose, intermingled with sweat and pine, and underneath that the ever-present smell of the dead that he couldn’t get rid of. His skin crawled, prickling up his spine. Tension built beneath him, bubbling in his chest and constricting around his heart. He felt like eons of dirt had caked its way onto him, building beneath cotton clothing, weaving into his hair, collecting on his skin.

Armin opened his eyes, scowling and turning his attention to the ceiling. His stomach churned uncomfortably; food was out of the question. Water didn’t sound appealing either...

Water.

He was in Sina.

“Do you have running water?” Armin blurted out, startling the nurse with his intensity.

“Yes,” they said slowly. 

“Can I take a shower?” Armin stared hopefully at them. How wonderful it would be, to clean with running water!

The nurse frowned. “We need you to get rest.”

“Please,” Armin pleaded. He sat up in his bed, excitement boiling under his skin. “I’m so dirty. It would be better for me to heal in a cleaner environment, right? It would be more hygienic, and I’d be less likely to get infected or infect someone else. It would be better for everyone.”

The nurse sighed. “I can’t argue with that. Are you able to stand?”

Armin all but threw the covers off of his bed, shivering as his bare feet touched the cold floor. He swayed slightly, looking hopefully at the nurse.

“Down the hall, take a right, then a left,” the nurse said.

“Thank you!” Armin waved. In an instant, he was out of the room, making his way as fast as he could down the halls.

\---

Not only was there running water, the water was _warm._ Armin sighed happily, letting the water run down his shoulders. It massaged at the knots in his neck, carrying away the stress that had taken up residence, growing larger each day. Wet hair slapped his cheeks, directing streams of water to his collarbone. Dirt gathered beneath his feet, the remnants of battle disappearing down the drain with it. 

He felt lighter than he had in months. Every worry seemed to float away as he dipped his head back, the wonderfully warm stream like a comforting hug. It ran down the front of his face, brushing away the bags that sat under his eyes, rubbing away the invisible tear tracks that so constantly fell down his face. The pressure beneath his skin lessened. Sandpaper was replaced with silk, softly replacing itching skin with a gentle warmth. 

And his hair! Never had it felt so clean. He ran his fingers through it, delighted when it met no smeared mud or crusted blood. It slid without resistance, sticking to his neck as he let it go. He felt as though his veins were filled with molten gold, shimmering beneath his skin and shining through his hair, his body feeling absolutely radiant. 

He pulled his head back out of the water, opening his eyes to examine the line of soaps before him. They didn’t feel like the cheap soaps back home, filled with sand and smelling like resin. No, these ones were fantastically made, each one feeling and smelling different from the others. He picked up the transparent, yellow bar, sniffing at it. It smelled of lemon and honey, biting at his nose, demanding that he pay attention to how clean it was. No, too harsh for how he was currently feeling. The opaque, green bar grabbed his attention next. Rosemary and mint cloyed his senses, making his eyes water. While the scent itself was not bad, it felt too much like a heavy weight bearing down on him.

All that remained was an unassuming purple bar. He picked it up, turning it once in his hands. Chamomile wrapped around him, lavender massaging his shoulders. It felt like the embodiment of a relaxing tea, comfortably filling the stomach and releasing tension through its heat. With the warm water running down around him, it had the same effect. 

It lathered easily, unlike the soaps back home where he had to furiously flip it in his hands, gritty sand tearing away at his palms. He ran it around his fingers first, then moved up his arms. The lather tickled at his skin, the scent surrounding him and releasing what felt like years of stress that had wriggled its way between his flesh and bones. Down his chest, then to his legs, where his harness had dug their teeth into his skin, leaving ever-reddening scars. He rubbed callouses at the bottoms of his feet, the dirt that had been stuck between his toes washing away with the water. 

He ran his hands down his face, running circles around his cheeks, brushing away the remains of sticky sweat that had clung to his forehead. He combed fingers through his hair, the chamomile inviting, the lavender soothing. What would it be like, to live in a place where he could have running water every day, to have thousands upon thousands of different sweet-smelling soaps to choose from? Why did the people of Sina have to hoard it all to themselves, and leave people like him with no way to feel as clean as currently did?

Irritation swelled within him. Why did the nobles feel the need to keep everyone else in a different era? Shiganshina felt centuries behind the technology Sina had. It was pure selfishness to keep all of this to themselves, to let others die because they didn’t have the right tools to heal them, to let others suffer even as they put food on their tables. Even he, right now, could be dead from something that was so easily fixed by a Sina surgeon. The sheer luck of location kept him from dying. 

Armin grimaced. Of course he would squander his one chance of luxury by thinking about such injustices. The water didn’t feel quite as comforting as he quickly rinsed himself, shutting it off hurriedly and returning to his hospital bed. 

When he opened the door, he was met by the faces of what remained of the 104th, brows furrowed with concern at his condition, talking quietly among one another. All heads whipped to meet him, tension bleeding out of the room now that he was back.

“Hey! You’re okay!” Connie said, jumping out of his seat.

“We were so worried,” Sasha added. “You passed out like a sack of potatoes, and you were so pale...”

Everyone started to speak at once, voices crowding over one another.

“The doctor had said you had internal bleeding, which is never a good sign--”

“Jean thought that you would die!”

“You should have seen Levi, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him emote so much in his life--”

“I thought that we would lose you--”

Armin raised his hand, stopping the wave of voices. “Hey, I’m okay,” he said, smiling. “I’m glad to see you all here.” 

“We technically aren’t supposed to be in here,” Mikasa said, a mischievous smirk on her face. 

“The nurse is mad at us,” Eren mumbled.

“They want you to sleep, but we wanted to make sure you were okay first,” Jean said. 

“Should we get you anything?” Sasha asked.

Armin padded his way back to his bed, sitting on the side of it. Sleepiness began to tug at him, his body still feeling comfortably warm from his shower. “I think I’m okay, Sasha. Thank you though.” He could feel his eyelids drooping, a yawn escaping from his mouth.

Mikasa put a hand on his shoulder. “Should we let you sleep?”

Armin hesitated, then nodded. “I’m feeling pretty tired. And you should all leave before the nurse gets back. I don’t want you all to get in trouble.” He pulled back the blankets, situating himself. Gravity pressed down on him, fighting against him as he sat up, tugging at his clothes and begging for him to sleep. 

They filed out, one by one, each expressing their relief that he was going to be okay. Armin nodded along with them, trying to throw off sleep long enough to stay lucid to reply. The door closed, and he sank into his bed, closing his eyes.

Perhaps it wasn’t so bad, being here in Sina. Injustices still existed, but at least he wasn’t alone. He had his friends, his makeshift family, to help and watch over him. They cared enough about him to get the greatest care they could provide him, saving his life, in return for him saving theirs. That was one luxury that could never be taken away from him, that even those who lived on the outskirts could have. 

He had people that cared about him, and a family to come home to, wherever home may be.


End file.
